


Secret Îmwe Family Recipe

by TuppingLiberty



Series: As the Universe Wills It - Force Husbands [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Scarification, Sick Fic, Tattoos, baze grumbles a lot, old family remedies, scar tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9600374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Baze is out with a cold, so Chirrut comforts him.Set in the Seattle AU where Baze is a potter/security consultant and Chirrut is a consultant at the Asian Art Museum.To Cognomen - feel better man!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cognomen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/gifts).



Chirrut tapped quietly through the house, then forewent the cane altogether when he had to take the tray into his hands. Each step was easy and safe, though. Baze made sure of that, more often than Chirrut did, even. He made his way slowly to the bedroom, where he could tell from Baze’s labored breathing that his husband was awake, and, considering how sick he was, likely grumpy. 

“I told you to wear a coat.”

Baze grunted. “I  _ wore _ a coat. It was that kid that sneezed on me at the supermarket.”

“Uh huh. Okay, well. Tea and soup, just what the doctor ordered. Don’t make me embarrass us both by trying to force feed you.” He heard the rustling of the bed covers, and then the tray was being lifted from his hands.

“I’ll feed myself, thank you.”

Baze’s gruff voice didn’t deter Chirrut. Hell, it never had before. The slightly nasal quality to it, from the stuffed nose, made a tiny smile lift Chirrut’s lips. He sat carefully, with enough time for Baze to adjust the tray and not spill any soup. He laughed when Baze coughed around his first sip of soup.

“Shit, do you have to make it so hot?”

“Secret Îmwe family recipe. Will burn out anything, and I mean anything, that ails you.”

“I know,” Baze grumbled.

He really did sound miserable, and Chirrut felt bad for him. However, he also knew that the last thing Baze ever wanted was his sympathy. Nothing made him feel smaller than sympathy, and Chirrut hated to make Baze feel small. He deserved more than that. Always.

Chirrut chewed his lip and stood again, feeling his way around to his side of the bed. He found his book, and sat down beside Baze in bed.

“You don’t have to stay,  _ lăo gong _ .” Baze’s voice rumbled through the quiet, though, Chirrut noted, pleased, it sounded a little less nasally. The soup was working, then.

“Do you want me to read to you, or not?” Chirrut smiled when that shut Baze up, and he cracked the book, a fantasy series he’d been into recently. He pitched his voice slightly louder than the rain that was pattering against the window. As he read aloud, he heard Baze finish the soup, and sip quietly at the tea, and then slowly, ever so slowly, creep up against Chirrut. His head pillowed into Chirrut’s lap, and he held the book open for Chirrut, so Chirrut could use that hand to stroke through Baze’s hair. When the soft breaths against his thigh signaled that Baze had slid into sleep, he continued reading silently, until he leaned back against the headboard and fell asleep himself.

\--------------

Chirrut had been born blind, so he really had no idea if his dreams were different than other people. Well, he  _ did, _ obviously, sometimes Baze told him the most outlandish things that had happened in his dreams. Still, Chirrut mostly remembered sensations, feelings, sounds. And this dream. Well.  _ Well. _ This dream, he heard Baze’s moan, felt Baze’s lips on his throat, sweet and slow like syrup. 

He slid into wakefulness with a gasp, reaching out, running his hand through Baze’s hair and pulling a little, hearing his moan. Baze placed a kiss on Chirrut’s neck, and then his head was lifting up. 

“You hate taking naps during the day.” Baze moved his lips up Chirrut’s neck, to his cheek. “I thought it my husbandly duty to wake you.”

“You’re feeling better,” Chirrut managed, then gasped.

“Secret Îmwe family recipe.” Baze’s fingers were lifting his t-shirt hem up over his head, then he was kissing over Chirrut’s chest, and Chirrut let him, understood Baze was in a place where he needed to call the shots. 

“Well, I’m glad it did the job-  _ oh.” _

He felt Baze’s grin against the skin of his chest even as Baze continued to mouth over his nipple. “Thanks for the soup. And the story. And the lap.” His lips migrated to the other nipple, and his hand smoothed over Chirrut’s stomach, until it worked under the drawstring of Chirrut’s lounge pants. “Mmm.” The hum rumbled into Chirrut’s chest, and he was lost, oh, he was lost with love for his husband. “Easy access.”

Chirrut snorted and pulled Baze’s hair again lightly. “Don’t be crude.” He felt at the back of Baze’s neck, under the masses of hair, really, how did this man have so much  _ hair, _ over the scarification that rested there, hidden from everyone but Chirrut’s clever fingers. Baze hummed as Chirrut read the tattoo, over and over, and he came back up for a crushing kiss. When he broke it off, Chirrut snickered, hand still on Baze’s neck. “Now, are you going get us off, or not?”

“Who’s crude now?” Baze muttered, and straddled Chirrut. His hands left Chirrut’s body, and Chirrut heard the rustling of clothing, the open and shut of the drawer in their nightstand. Chirrut pushed his pants and briefs over his hips, and then one of Baze’s large hands was wrapping around his cock, slick from lube but warmed by his skin.

Chirrut groaned and sat up, pulling Baze closer as Baze worked both their cocks between them. He buried his face in Baze’s throat, feeling the thundering of his heart, hearing the huffs of breath and sounds of pleasure spilling from his lips. Baze was so good for him like that; he was, in himself, a  _ tactile _ experience, scarred and scruffy and rough and smooth in all the right places. But then Baze made sure to be an auditory experience, too, and Chirrut was grateful. Everyone thought his Baze was quiet. Terse. Chirrut knew differently. He was happy to be Baze’s choice, the only one who’d ever get to hear the soft moan Baze made when he stroked their cocks together, or feel the rumble of it in the skin of his throat. 

His hand slipped up to the scarification tattoo again, the braille that simply read  _ LOVE. _ Both of them had a hard time being sentimental, let alone sappy, but the tattoo was a way for Baze to be both when he couldn’t vocally. Baze groaned, and wrapped his other arm around Chirrut’s smaller body, and Chirrut was absolutely surrounded by the sensation of Baze. 

Baze twisted his hand and Chirrut stiffened, coming between them, nipping into the aged skin of Baze’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he gasped, then held Baze close as he chased his orgasm, too.

In the aftermath, when their hearts stopped thundering, Baze slid off Chirrut and melted, face up, on the bed. Chirrut cleaned them up with his t-shirt and pulled Baze’s pajama pants back up. “ _ Bái chī,  _ you’re going to need another whole nap after that.” He leaned over, sweeping Baze’s sweaty hair away from his face, and placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Worth it,” Baze mumbled, and Chirrut smiled. 

“Go to sleep,” Chirrut commanded as he slipped out of the bed. It was true; he didn’t like to nap during the day, and besides, he’d meant to spend the morning working on his forms. 

“Wait!” Baze’s voice was different, like he’d sat up, and Chirrut paused. “Tray, two steps to your left.”

He heard Baze collapse on the sheets again as he smiled. He took two steps to the left, picked up the tray, and carried it back to the kitchen. Yeah, Baze was always the one who made sure Chirrut could navigate the house safely and easily. 

**Author's Note:**

> The genius idea of Baze have a scarred tattoo that Chirrut could feel came from this amazing post. http://a-smiling-travesty.tumblr.com/post/156624570594/geniusbee-love-as-a-tactile-experience-what-if
> 
> And I forgot to mention it on the last fic but translations:  
> Bái chī - idiot  
> lăo gong - dear husband  
> and both are used as endearments. :)
> 
> I'm @animalasaysrauer on tumblr!


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